Because all good things must end…


Hello Travelers,

The coffin is closed, and as such, we must say good bye. I’ve chosen the winner for this tour, one Lori Parker, though I regret not being able to give something to each and every one of you.

However, I’ve opted to share the rest of The Silence in my Smile with you, as you all seemed very interested in this piece, so perhaps I am giving you all something. Enjoy, friends!

***

It was a night like any other for me. I wandered the dark streets, with so many homes filled with families that were not aware of my presence, cold and alone. Not a single house light could be seen, but after all, 2 A.M. was not an hour in which most people were awake. The night sky was black and the darkness unbroken, except by a few defiant stars. The frigid wind blew through my chest, but no cold nor isolation could ever compare to the hollow emptiness inside me.

On more than one occasion, my friends had attempted to pry me from my shell with invitations to parties, drinking games at the local bar, or other such menial delights. On all occasions, I responded in the negative. One of my few remaining friends, Donovan, brought me aside on such a night.

“Look, I know you’re hurt. I know that you must be going through some really dark times, but you have to get out and live just a little.”

“Why should I?” My voice was cold and dead.

“Because we want to know you’re ok, but we have no way of telling whether or not you really are. Ever since… that day… we haven’t heard you laugh. You don’t do anything anymore, and we haven’t even seen you smile. We would know you’re okay if you could just give us one damn smile. It’s rough seeing such a great guy so miserable.”

Well what did they know? I stalked through the night like a wounded animal- desperate for attention, yet ready to snap at anyone who came close. I soon noticed I was coming close to my street, Darnell Court. I didn’t want to return home yet, so I took the sharp left onto Way Street, as if ready to face the creeping memory of death. I tried hard to repress the memories that ripped at my mind, so I shook my head and continued my somber sauntering.

Unfortunately for me, I soon happened upon the town park. I stopped by a thick birch tree, my head suddenly swimming as memories flooded my mind. I fought this, but I could not stop the cruel images from playing in my mind. The colors and sounds mocked me with their unrelenting progression.

I saw the same park, only it was day time. I remembered this scene from just a few months ago; I was pushing my dearest daughter, Emily, on the swings. She had a bright yellow sundress on, and her soft voice was laughing with childish delight. She begged me to push her higher and higher, and soon leapt from the swing, sailing across the playset and landing triumphantly. I couldn’t help but admire her brave spirit. She was always trying to prove she was as mature and as bold as any adult. Sometimes, she actually was, and would prove her bravado despite any danger it might pose to her.

Turning on her feet, she ran suddenly and jumped back onto the swing. Using it like a fulcrum, she swung and leapt once more, this time tackling my chest. I laughed, stumbling, but caught her. She had wrapped her arms tightly around my torso, her narrow arms squeezing tight.

“I love you, daddy!”

That was it. My heart once again shook with pain; my body tensed as I struggled to hold back tears. How cruel must nature be, that I am always reminded of how badly I have suffered? I wrapped my arms tight around myself, praying the other memories would not return as I sprinted for home, unwilling to walk Memory Lane any longer.

My footsteps were loud, echoing through the streets, but I did not care. I shut my eyes, but behind them I saw the darkness in even greater detail. All I could think of was getting home before any other thoughts chose to break my heart again. It almost worked, but I had the growing sense that I could not outrun the pain of my past. I sprinted fast, then faster still, nearly breaking down my door as I slammed into it, but the memory returned regardless.

It had been another bright and warm day. The sun shone brilliantly, with warm air gusting through the streets. Birds chirped merrily, and I smiled up at the pleasant day. Emily and my wife, Elizabeth, had just been out to the supermarket. I couldn’t wait to see them, even though they’d only been gone a short time. I loved them both, and Emily was the spitting image of her mother. They both had wavy, golden hair, a smooth complexion, and an honest, kind, but witty personality. Every day with them was like a day at an amusement park- and Emily had a habit of making up elaborate fantasies, so it could certainly get amusing!

I waited eagerly on my front steps to help them bring the groceries in. I squinted down the road and saw their car driving up Way Street. The bright blue paint sparkled in the sunlight, and I could just make out Emily’s smile from the other side of the windshield. I smiled, stood, and waved to them. I saw Elizabeth laugh as Emily waved back. The joyous expressions were still in place when a black sedan crumpled the driver’s side of their car.

Metal twisted and screeched as my family’s car spun out of control. The driver’s door was so badly damaged, that it could not possibly be opened. Their car wrapped around a telephone pole, a thunderous bang echoing through the neighborhood. Smoke billowed from under the hood. It happened so fast, that I knew they were going to die before I had even stopped smiling.

I raced from my porch, frantically dialing 9-1-1, knowing it would not save my family, but trying nonetheless. I reached the crushed blue van to find my wife slumped upon the steering wheel, her once-vibrant green eyes were now dulled and lifeless. She died on impact. Looking past her, past the blood that coated her, and past the steel that pierced her torso, I saw Emily. She was barely breathing, a large, jagged piece of metal having gouged open her side. She was bleeding badly, but her eyes still locked on me.

I rushed to the other side of the car. Though the thick pole blocked my access to the door, I could see into the gap where the window used to be. She was rasping, blood trickling from the corner’s of her mouth. I heard a desperate sob escape my lips as I pried at the other doors, but the automatic locking system had engaged and my little girl was trapped. My precious Emily was dying, and I couldn’t help her. My heart throbbed in agony as I ran back to the window.

“Emily, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok. Daddy is right here and we’re going to get you to the hospital, ok?” My voice shook, but I didn’t want to let her know how scared I was. I strengthened my resolve, in hopes that fear wouldn’t plague my voice.

“Daddy… It’s ok daddy.”

“Yes baby, it’s going to be ok. You’re going to be ok.” I was praying, no, begging for God’s salvation to shine on my daughter.

“Don’t cry daddy.” Damn, I couldn’t even appear strong for her! “You have to smile.”

“What was that baby?” Smile? I must have misheard her.

“If you don’t smile, then the darkness will get you, and you’ll be all alone. You’ll be sad and scared. Just smile daddy. Smiles say everything.” She pushed her cheeks up in a forced, childish, yet almost surreal grin, and collapsed. Her limp form never stirred again, and my heart broke. I turned with all the fires of hell in my eyes upon the people who had done this to me. God could not have saved them.

Unfortunately, the police could, as they had just showed up and proceeded to restrain me. The driver was 17, dropping acid, and drunk. His BAC was .24 and he had taken nearly enough drugs to kill himself. He was unharmed, as were his five passengers, who were all high. They laughed all the way to the precinct, and I doubted they would remember what had happened. It did not matter. My family had been taken from me, and my happiness went with them.

“Well, you were right baby. I don’t smile anymore, and I’m sure not happy anymore. I’m all alone, with no one left to smile for.” I sobbed to the empty sky, creaked the door open, and collapsed into my bed. I allowed exhaustion to carry me away, my dreams as black as midnight.

***

I awoke the next day feeling odd. Standing, I noticed my mouth would not open to yawn. I thought this to be a simple thing; I had fallen asleep on my stomach, so perhaps my chin had been pressed into the bedding to hard. I reached up to stretch my jaw by force, but my hand did not meet my chin. It met a hot, thick and burning substance. It slowly dawned on me that it not only hurt to touch, but burned the skin around my face, as if it were eating me away. My heart leapt into my throat, and my body could barely keep up with my feet as I ran to my bathroom. I looked upon my reflection with horror to see that a majority of my mouth, chin and cheeks were gone. In their place was a hideous black fungus that bubbled and seethed with a mind of its own. I felt it had eaten away my mouth, and I pressed my tongue to the front of my mouth, noticing I no longer had lips. In place of them, acidic mush greeted my tongue. The taste of copper blood filled my mouth. Whatever this thing was, it was devouring me.

I looked up at my mirror and tried to dispell this horror with my reflection. I watched the seething mass on my face, wondering what arcane and demonic force had chosen to reap its pain upon me. Then I considered this situation; this had to be a dream or some form of hallucination. I shut my eyes as tight as I could.

This isn’t real, it can’t be… It’s all going to be gone in one… two… three.

I opened my eyes and found a vision even more shocking then my own appearance- my wife and daughter stood behind me. I stared into the mirror, unwilling to believe it was real. They appeared as real as they ever had, Emily’s green eyes gazing eagerly at me. Elizabeth smiled gently, as she always had. I looked back at Emily’s reflection, who pushed her fingers up against her cheeks, just as she had done the day… the day she died. Elizabeth’s image reached over to mine and gave my cheek a soft kiss.

I felt that kiss. I whirled around to grasp my family, to beg their help, to just see them again, but no one was there. Tears rolled down my cheeks as my misery returned, even stronger then before, and caressed the outer edge of the thing that engulfed my face.

I looked back at my reflection, crying with terror and regret, as anyone would. I noticed the fungus had begun to creep outwards. It spread down my chin and across my face, and I could feel it eat and burn my flesh. It was growing, feeding off my body to fuel its own! Pain seared and radiated from every inch that this thing covered, and my breath came in ragged gasps as terror filled me. Worse still, it was attempting to block my nostrils and suffocate me. I smelt an acrid, burnt odor, and soon understood that my facial hair had been burned away by the fungus.

Terrified and in agony, I sprinted down the stairs to my living room. Of course, no one was home to help me, and I didn’t dare go outside. Though my blinds were closed, some slits revealed the sunlight to be blinding. I put my hand in the path of the sunshine only to feel it scald my wrist in seconds! I could not leave my home, and the fungus was spreading into my sinuses. My situation appeared hopeless, but I couldn’t just let this thing win. I picked up a phone and dialed 9-1-1, but of course, I could only attempt to speak. No sound came from me. The thing slowly made its way into me; I had no choice but to dash to the kitchen. I grabbed a knife and stared at the reflection of my blackened, bubbling and terrified face in the blade. I prepared myself for any further pain.

I thought back to the day that fate chose to take my family from me. I remembered the way my daughter gave me one last smile, her face still so innocent and beautiful, despite being matted with dirt and blood from the accident.
“If you don’t smile, then the darkness will get you, and you’ll be all alone. You’ll be sad and scared. Just smile daddy.”

Had she done this? In some point of her life, did my daughter manage to become some dark prophet? Either way, I had to be free of this, so I dragged the knife across my cheek, but found the sharp blade only became stuck within the seething mass. I managed to wrench it free, and knew I had little time. My head began to swim as I lost oxygen, and it had already engulfed half of my torso. My vision shook and began to fade as I thought back to my daughter.

Okay baby, you want daddy to smile? I’m going to give you the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. I thought.

I brought the knife down upon my face, severing portions of my nose. Parts of it dropped to the floor, cartilage attached to the bloody chunks of flesh, and as I sucked in air through the hole, I knew this was the only way. I continued my macabre home surgery, my daughter’s voice echoing in my ears…

***

Clearview Mental Facility- patient report.
Patient 1842930; Joesph L. Johnson
Patient admitted: 4/12/09
Diagnosis: Severe psychotic break with manic tendencies.
WARNING: Masochistic tendencies. Placed on suicide watch.

Mr. Johnson was admitted to our facility pending an emergency phone call from the patient’s home. A scream was heard, and it was thought he was being attacked. When the police found him, he was laughing in a deranged manner, and continuously slashed at himself with a butcher’s knife. It is unclear who reported the incident, as the patient was far too delusional to do so, but the patient carved off his own nose, lips, cheeks and portions of his chin and neck. He was also alone, and no traces of hallucinogenic or toxins drugs were found in his body.

Mr. Johnson recently lost his wife and child in a traffic collision. The stress of this is undoubtedly what took such a drastic toll on his mind, causing this episode. Fortuntely, the police were able to restrain him and stop the bleeding, preventing his death. Too much damage had been done for skin grafts, so the patient’s physical condition is scarred and gruesome.

Patient is non-responsive, does not answer or even look at those who speak, call his name, or even strike the patient. Patient does not become better or worse with medication. Patient does not engage in any activity, alone or otherwise. The only action indicating this patient has brain function is that the peculiar expression he displays upon the remnants of his face.

It appears to be a smile

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Find me @CoffinHop 2013!


Hello Travelers,

I know it’s been quite some time, and I blame school for that, but I’m back with news that I’m participating in Coffin Hop over the coming 8 days. Each day, I’ll be posting an excerpt of previously written work, some of which I wrote when quite young, and giving a variety of prizes throughout.

What prizes, you ask? Well, because I’m broke, I can’t give away much physical merchandise, but here’s the breakdown:

(You may notice this section has changed; as per some advice I was given by several previous coffin hoppers, I’ve opted to change this section)

Regrettably, I will be giving away one prize, due entirely to the fact that I am broke. One lucky winner, chosen from everyone who comments on my posts throughout the entire week of coffin hop, will receive a signed anthology of his or her choice (out of those I’ve published in, of course). I could give out a variety of eBooks, but I’d rather give one special gift.

There you have it, folks. I hope to hear a lot from you all very soon.

Farewell, friends,

A. Chase

Damned Words 2


Hello Travelers,

A few days ago, my favorite group of horror writers, Pen of the Damned, released a collaborative post featuring several very short poems or stories by some of their members. It’s like getting free literature wholesale! Be sure to visit, subscribe, and thank The Damned for their generosity.

Damned Words 2.


Hello, Travelers.

Today, it is with extreme excitement that I spread the news of Siren’s Call Publications newest release,

Bellows of the Bone Box

Sit back and let the clock tick-tick-tick away the hours as you enjoy this Steampunk Horror anthology, featuring my story,

Edward Vincell of the 37th Platoon.

Just make sure you don’t get your hand caught in the gears…

BellowsoftheBoneBox_FrontCover

The Steampunk and Horror genres are masterfully combined in the twelve stories contained within Bellows of the Bone Box. Each of the authors has transported you to an age where steam is the dominate means of power and has woven a tale that will fascinate, or possibly scandalize you.

In this volume, you will find clockworks, pneumatic tubes, airships, and leather worn out of necessity – not vanity. Can an engine be powered by human blood; should it be? What about body modification; what happens when the mechanical meets the biological and goes awry? Does the heart rule the machine, or does the machine consume the humanity that once existed within it? What of airships, regeneration, or hallucination; is it safe to trifle with such things? Should technology that can rift time and dimensions be researched; and if that research proves fruitful, should it ever see the light of day?

Packed full of intrigue, imagination, and horror, lovers of Steampunk will have a hard time deciding which of the twelve is their favorite!

Featuring the talents of:

Brad Bass, Paul Boulet, Laura Brown, Vivian Caethe, Alex Chase, Megan Dorei, O.M. Grey, Tarl Hoch, Gavin Ireland, Kirk Jones, Kate Monroe and Christofer Nigro

Available on:

Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon CDN, CreateSpace, Smashwords

The Coming Soon Blog Hop! @CdnZmbiRytr


Hello Travelers,

Today, I bring you Julianne Snow’s post on her ongoing projects. Having been tagged, you’ll see my own variant of this next week, on the 17th. Until then, enjoy the brief glimpse into this zombie-author’s ever-working mind.

And, if you’re reading this, thank you, Ms. Snow, for the subtle compliment- I’m sure Kate Monroe and Suzanne Robb appreciate it too!

The Coming Soon Blog Hop!.

BACK ROOM DEALS, by @WyomingBob #horror #writing


Hello Travelers,

I always had my suspicions about Mr. McRob, but he’s stepped forward to confess under the guise of fiction. Some might ask how a simple writer became the devil, saying it’s illogical to assume that someone you can casually hold a conversation with is the Prince of Darkness.

In his own words, “Fuck logic.” Take a breath of fresh air before you go, ye wayward souls. You’ll need it.

BACK ROOM DEALS.

For the Love of the Craft


Hello Travelers,

 

I mentioned a few minutes ago that I’d be re-posting some game-related blog content from my Game Informer blog to here. Well, here’s a good transitional post- my commentary on H. P. Lovecraft’s influence on the Silent Hill series. Enjoy!

***

The craft: Creative writing, regardless of its forms. Whether we’re writing books or video games, it’s important to look at ALL of the work that permeates one’s preferred medium. Scientists don’t just do experiments- they read papers and studies conducted by their peers and build off of what others have to say. As Sir Isaac Newton said, “If I have been able to see further than others, it is because I have stood on the shoulders of giants.”

The inspiration: Lovecraft. For those of you who did not know of this author before now, Howard Phillips Lovecraft was an American horror writer who specialized in ‘weird fiction’ and essentially created the notion of ‘cosmic indifference’.

Cosmic indifference is the notion that existing creatures, especially those of incredible or unearthly power, do not pay us much attention or even seek to destroy us. He is most renowned for The Call of Cthulhu, in which he writes of the Ancient One, Cthulhu, a “dead god” locked beneath the ocean- this being is of such monstrous power and so terrifying that simply looking at him causes some to lose their minds. This creature was locked beneath the ocean once more, but not before several score of grown men wet their pants. Or were devoured.

 

(The violent, alien demi-god of the hour!)

 

So how does this tie into Silent Hill?

Foremost, the god of Silent Hill is said to be born in Alyssa’s womb and spent years trying to claw its way through her body. If that’s not indifference, I don’t care enough to listen to you tell me otherwise.

More generally speaking, though, no supreme being of Silent Hill cares about what happens to its inhabitants, whether human or otherwise. Pyramid Head tries to eat several random enemies, usually mannequins, before trying to kill James Sunderland. Samael/Incubus of Silent Hill pays no attention to the disciple who gets shot on its behalf, or to the little girl it apparently absorbs in order to come into being. God in Silent Hill 3 tries to eat Heather from the inside out, then essentially does the same to Claudia (though she had it coming, because seriously, who eats a blood-and-vomit-covered baby? And how the hell did she swallow it without chewing?) before trying, once again, to kill Heather. The bosses in Origins all try to kill Travis, though they are supposedly, in most cases, family- and that’s not to mention the god that appears in the last battle to kill him.

These are not gods that care about human life; they show up and wreak havoc.

Here’s more fun info on why Lovecraft is the key inspiration behind Silent Hill- HPL inspired Jacob’s Ladder, a unique, psychological thriller movie that Silent Hill borrowed several details from (though I consider this homage, not theft).

For example, in the movie, Jacob wakes up on a subway train. He gets off only to find the platform deserted, but the stairs are blocked by locked gates. He must cross the tracks to get to Bergen Street, and is almost hit by a different train filled with ghostly figures that stare at him in passing. Sound familiar?

The monsters in the film also writhe and spasm in a manner similar to those in SH.

Last but not least: Aliens. Lovecraft’s Elder Gods and Ancient Ones (EG were good guys, AO were bad, to oversimplify this genius’s vast multiverse of literature) were all ALIENS.

That’s right- these weren’t just random spiritual entities or malignant things from the shadowy corners of the Bible, but creatures from beyond the stars, hence COSMIC indifference.

This is likely why each and every Silent Hill, from number one to Downpour, has an alien ending, or at least features Aliens. That’s also why these aliens can show up, ruin everyone’s day and cause an entire town to vanish off the face of the earth. They simply don’t care about the humans.

While this doesn’t explain the dogs, I imagine they serve as a tribute to Dean Koontz, another horror/sci-fi writer, whom one of the streets in SH is named after. The same goes for Stephen King.

So remember: Read. Not only can doing so increase your intelligence, but it can inspire you to more creative ideas. Perhaps you, like me, may fall in love with books and write some for yourself!

At the very least, a book never told me, “Game over.”

The next time you pop in your favorite game, regardless of whether or not that game will take you down the misty lanes of Silent Hill, take a moment to say thank you to all the authors out there. Books were the video games of the previous generations, and those people- the ones who read- are the ones who developed the first games. Without the brilliant minds that came up with TRUE horror- the men and women who penned the first stories of madness, obsession and monsters- we wouldn’t have the awesome games we have today.

And one last thing:

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn”